One thing I’ve noticed in this season of life is the feeling that time is running out, while at the same time being forced to wait. The tension between the already and the not yet is with us in every season, but it feels different now. Time does not stretch out before me as an unending resource with limitless possibilities, but as a finite thing.
I am just north of fifty, and if the actuaries are correct, I have a decent chance at several more decades of life. But even with my family history of longevity, I am likely past the half-way point. I have more years of my career behind me than before me. The task of raising children to adulthood, that loomed so large in my mind and emotions, is done.
And yet. I am waiting. I am waiting for things for myself and for others. I am waiting on relationships to heal. I am waiting for loved ones to reclaim their faith. I am praying for prodigals to return. For the test results to come back.
Like so many things in midlife, it’s not necessarily a change from how things were before, but a deeper realization of their reality. My fears now have a face, so to speak. These are not things that happen to other people, but realities that are happening to me or people I love.
What does faith look like in this season?
Faith Doesn’t Mean Pretending to be Okay
One of the biggest misconceptions I had when I was younger was the mistaken belief that faith means keeping your “game face” on. Some of it was borne out of my naivety, of course. And even the world embraces this idea. Both “name it claim it” and the Law of Attraction tell us to believe only good things, and not to entertain thoughts of the negative.
And though I’ve never subscribed to either the theology or the theory, I realize I have mistakenly internalized some of those beliefs. But mostly, I think, I was confusing joy with happiness. Aren’t real Christians supposed to be happy all the time?
Happiness, of course, is a wonderful blessing that God sometimes grants us. But joy and peace are separate realities from the fleeting emotion of happiness. I can be baffled and saddened by the situations that surround me, while still holding on to the roots of my faith. It doesn’t mean that things are okay. I would have to be demented or in deep denial to pretend some of this is okay, but I can focus instead on the ultimate reality and hope.
This is what Paul pointed the early church to in his letters. He was either in prison or under the threat of prison. The early Christians were being continually persecuted. None of it was okay, but their ultimate hope did not lie in this world, but in the reality of Christ.
Faith Means Clinging to God’s Character When You Can’t See His Hand
I used to so confidently state what I thought God was trying to teach me in my difficulties. Now I have no idea. I can’t wrap much of this in a neat bow. It’s messy and hard.
God could, of course, redeem all of this in the land of the living. But the truth is, it’s uncertain at best. I don’t know if any of this will ever make sense, and I definitely won’t get out of this world alive. I have the promise of God’s goodness, even when things don’t feel good.
Faith Often Means Lament
Christ told us not to fear because life is scary. Paul told us to rejoice in all circumstances because circumstances are sometimes difficult.
Reading Psalms is our best evidence that God welcomes our honest emotions. We can come to him as we are, which includes our sadness and uncertainty. We can admit to our weariness in the waiting. Is there a more honest question than, “How long, Oh Lord?”
When time stretches out before you, it’s easy to feel that life is just a matter of choices. Midlife teaches that life is a collection of responses. We celebrate the unexpected blessings, of course, but grieve the unexpected heartaches. All come to us from the hand of a good God. He writes our days and holds our hands. We can trust him, even when the path seems dim.
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